Legacy
by Spiritual Stone
Summary: On Earth, they didn't leave much. Ninjas, after all. Yet they left a legacy that men dreamed of, far reaching, lasting, immeasurable. Their Master would have wryly pointed out that his sons had failed spectacularly at staying in the shadows, and he couldn't have been more proud.


**Just thought of this whilst reading a character death fic and remember another fic about the guys' milstones in life, and thought, wait, what about when they're ALL dead? What would they leave behind?**

**And then I thought, well, depends on how long they lived and how much they let their turtle-ness stop them from doing whatever they wanted. And you know what? It wouldn't have. **

**And here's my take on it. Enjoy!**

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_**Legacy**_

They passed away one by one when years before, they had been so sure they'd go together, in a fitful fight or a blaze of battle. It didn't matter in which order they went; only that they had no funerals, except the Viking kind. It was illegal, to be sure, but it was the only way their remains would be left alone: in undetectable and inscrutable uninteresting piles of ash.

Master Splinter had requested it to be thus for _his_ death, and they had followed their father's footsteps to the very end.

On Earth, they didn't leave much. A caved in tunnel in the sewers, a battered and shelled out Y'lintian lair, a reservoir customized to their needs, and then little corners for themselves across the American Continent, wherever they wished to travel or hide or fight. It would be years upon years before any of this would be discovered or stumbled upon, and even then their lives were shrouded in mystery (which changed, albeit briefly, in the year 2105). Their legacy, in material terms, was a small one.

Elsewhere, amongst statues of the greatest warriors of the multiverse, they all stood. The rambunctious one first, nunchucks in hand; two statues over, one snarling a smile with two sais, a little older, more adult than child. The one next was his brother, serene as his twin blades, and two more statues down was the final brother, older still and one arm replaced by a metallic limb (looking sheepish as if he'd inadvertently cheated). These statues declared their names, and honoured those they'd bested… so those in second place didn't feel _too_ cheated of the highest honour in the Battle Nexus.

For many years, the names of Renaissance Masters got the figurative silver medal.

Across the Galaxy the Triceraton Republic thrived on its Four Points of Goodwill: Honour, Ingenuity, Loyalty and Compassion. The leader of the Resistance that'd founded these said they were a tribute to those that had aided him and his team to victory and peace. He didn't say who exactly, since they preferred to be anonymous, weren't of the Triceraton race so no, they were not available for an interview, and he was fairly certain that his four friends would be utterly embarrassed if they knew that a whole social norm had been founded from their actions.

Traximus did, however, suggest they see the feed of the Games in which Prime Leader Zanramon, the last of his name, got himself kidnapped and had his space-cruisers stolen and destroyed.

In another corner of the Galaxy, their names were carved in history for helping to secure the worst criminal ever born and bred from their race. The Utroms' memories were long, and available to all who knew them and wished to learn. Their fierce determination in battle, their selfless sacrifice that nearly cost them their lives, were one of the more (if not most) popular history lessons ever told.

It also created a boom in pets in any colour of green and red/orange/purple/blue.

They held influences elsewhere, all indirectly, most bringing peace from blood and battle. An end of a despotic rule here, stopping a scourge of locust-like lizard men from eating through planets one by one there, and occasionally stopping spiritual apocalypses in between.

There was a school on another earth that was run by a samurai yet taught ninjitsu, a conflicted hare as the Schoolmaster.A metal with the lowest density ever invented had the honour of one of their names, and in another reality action figures of four terrapin superheroes was graced with a fifth turtle with an orange mask. There was a line of bikes only available in red, green, or black, that most if not all Space Racers coveted for its lucky name and its backstory.

And if all that hadn't been odd enough, they'd left their footprints in the Jurassic Era.

Yet it was the legacy they left in their corner of the world that would have been the closest to their hearts.

_O'Neil Tech_ and its rise, its ever growing list of inventions. _Jones's,_ a string of boxing gyms for at risk kids with an angry red turtle for a logo. A line of comics written by M. Hamato, earning a lasting place in pop-culture. A suicide help group who'd claimed their acronym (DnDt) stood for _Don't Do it_ later confessed it was actually _Da Vinci and Dicaprio Talks_, for which they earned an immense amount of confusion.

The turtle that'd inspired the group in question had been just as baffled and had been laughed at immensely by his brothers. Clearly he'd talked/philosophised/stopped far too many people that'd tried to jump off of high infrastructures.

An immensely satisfying legacy was how gangs at one point stopped calling the Police 'pigs' or the 'fuzz' or whatever they referred to those serving the law, and began to call them 'turtles'. Some claimed it was because the officers were so slow to catch onto what they were doing, but the elder thugs with more scars than would be normal knew better.

They became an urban legend too, that a friend of a friend of a neighbour's granny got saved by green men from Pluto.

Yet their greatest legacy lay in each other, how they'd grown older than they'd ever dared to hope, saw more than they ever could have imagined, and touched enough lives to fill miles and miles of black holes.

Their progress had been marked by scars, time, the unfortunate lost limb(s), death, and then more time. Time, so much time than they ever thought they'd have. That time gave them a chance at a legacy that men dreamed of, far reaching, lasting, immeasurable.

Their Master, if he had the chance to comment, would have wryly pointed out that his sons had failed spectacularly at staying in the shadows, and he couldn't have been more proud.

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**Cuz, you know, there was no way that they would've just drifted back to the sewers and stayed there. **

**So what did you think? Thoughts would be appreciated. **

**Also, should I continue this? Maybe I could elaborate on what went down after these guys left their teenage years. It'd be an interesting exercise, for sure. **

**Anyway, please review! And check out my other fic, _The Bourne Complex_. It needs love. ;)**


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